Inseparable
by cellotlix
Summary: Kíli threw his small body into his elder brother's arms. "Promise you won't leave me, ever as long as you live." "Why would I ever leave you?" Fíli asked lightly. "We're brothers, aye? We're meant to stick together." Kíli brightened, so easily swayed then. "Aye," he nodded. "We stick together." Kíli and Fíli through the years: loyalty, honor, love, and loss.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This will be a multi-chapter series of one shots featuring Kíli, Fíli, and Thorin. Most family oriented, lots of angst and drama as well, because ... well, you all know. **

**Please drop me a line if you liked it or have some suggestions, because I love hearing from you.  
**

The young nephews of Thorin Oakanshield were notorious for being inseparable. Though they were indeed separated by five years, it became common to hear it said that they were more like twins than brothers who had come into the world at different times, by different times. Fíli was the eldest, but he often felt borne along by his younger brother's endless enthusiasm, and he frequently thought to himself that those five years where Kíli had not existed were marked only by their darkness, and the odd feeling of emptiness that had settled in him, even as young as he was.

It might have been odd for Fíli to be so attached to his younger brother had Kíli not felt the same. Early on they established that they would brook no separation whatsoever, not even at night. For otherwise Kíli would have terrible nightmares that tormented him so badly he would wake screaming blue murder, inconsolable until Fíli came running to press his young brother in his arms and soothe him to sleep.

"What is it?" Fíli asked him the last time it had happened, when they were no more than twenty and twenty-five respectively.

Kíli looked up at him with wide, bright eyes, his cheeks streaked with tears. "I dreamed that darkness came and swallowed you whole. And I looked everywhere for you, called for you, but you were gone. It was cold and wet – like a cave or something – and I was lost forever."

"But you're fine, see?" Fíli said. "There's no cave, and I'm right here."

But Kíli was not comforted. He threw his small body into his elder brother's arms, pressing his tear-stained face into Fíli's chest. "Promise you won't leave me, ever as long as you live."

"Why would I ever leave you?" Fíli asked lightly, attempting to bring a smile to Kíli's face. "We're brothers, aye? We're meant to stick together."

Kíli brightened, so easily swayed by tempestuous moods even as a small child. "Aye," he nodded. "We stick together."

They could have hardly known it then, as young as they were, that the compact they sealed between them was of the eternal sort, a bond not so easily broken, not even by death.

* * *

Childhood feels eternal to those stuck in its throes, and this was especially true for two young boys who dreamed of becoming great warriors like their uncle. They would clamor around him, clutching his fine tunics and chainmail in their tiny fists, begging him for stories.

"Please, uncle," they would cry in turns. "Tell us a story!"

"I have no stories that would amuse you," Uncle returned, his voice rough as sand.

"Tell us a story of a great battle!" Kíli shouted, hopping up and down and yanking on Uncle's outercoat.

"Tell us how you got your name!" Fíli echoed, as he was eager to please his brother as much as he was eager to be near his uncle, who he saw as a great hero, above the province of mere mortals.

Uncle sighed, and though Fíli knew he was often dark of mood and temperament, when he looked upon his small nephews something softened in him, as if their presence was a kind of salve for old wounds that had festered.

"There was a battle outside the gates of Moria" said Uncle in a low voice. "My grandfather Thrór had fallen, and his head had been cloven from his body, tossed aside like trash, his eyes open and unseeing. I met the orc responsible in battle, and it was fierce and grim, for he was driven by all that is evil."

Kíli's eyes grew wider than should have been possible, almost perfect circles, framed by feathered lashes. "Was he truly so terrible?" he breathed.

"Aye," said Uncle. "Twice as large in body as I, with teeth more like the fangs of a beast than a man. In his eye, I saw a fire burning, and I swore to put it out. I rolled out of the path of one of his great blows, and as I dodged, I came upon a sundered oak branch. I saw the Azog's blade descending, and in a moment without breath or heartbeat, I brought that branch between us, so that the blade met the branch instead of my own flesh. And it did not sunder or break, but stood fast."

"And you cut off his arm next!" Kíli blurted, nearly beside himself with glee. He broke away and begun swinging an imaginary sword, and Fíli knew that in his brother's mind's eye, he saw that battle just as Uncle had described, though instead he stood at the side of Uncle, as great a warrior as Thorin Oakenshield himself.

"Perhaps you should recite this tale to me, since you know it so well," said Uncle, though Fíli saw his eyes glint with amusement, and his lips twitched against a small grin.

"I want to be like you, Uncle," said Kíli, running back and clutching at his leg. "I want to be a brave warrior, and defeat our foes in battle, just as you have!"

"It is not all glory, nephew," Uncle said grimly. "On the day of that battle, we lost so many of our own that the dead were beyond counting, and they littered the battlefield as far as one's eye can see. That is the province of war, just as much as any glory."

"But we would stand with you, Uncle!" Kíli said stoutly, Fíli nodding at his side. "And as long as we stood, no harm would come to you."

"Can you be so sure of the future, young nephew?" said Uncle softly. "Even I cannot."

But Kíli was not deterred by the odd mood that had fallen over Uncle; he knew nothing of the grimness of battle or the sorrow that could grip your heart as sure as any blade through it. "Will you teach us how to be great warriors, Uncle?" Kíli asked.

"I don't know."

"Please!" they wailed in unison. "Please teach us to be like you!"

And though Fíli saw it might have made Uncle happier to deny them, and to deny the cause for war, at his heart he was a pragmatic soul, and he knew that one day they would march to retake their home. "I will," said Uncle finally. "One day."

"Not today?!"

"You are too young today," Uncle said with a small smile. "You would not be able to fit your little hand around the hilt of a sword."

"I would so!" Kíli argued, bouncing on his small feet again. "I could do it!"

"Be patient, my nephews," said Uncle. "I will teach you what I knew when the day is right."

And though Kíli made to argue, when Fíli put his hand on his shoulder, his younger brother fell silent, cowed by Fíli's wordless reproach. After a long moment, he looked up to Uncle again. "Will you come home with us?"

"That is not our home," said Uncle, and there was a trace of anger in his voice.

Fíli recoiled, for he feared the wrath of his Uncle, which could be terrible when aroused, but Kíli wasn't deterred in the slightest. He looked up at Uncle with his wide, innocent gaze and tugged on his overcoat again. "Will you come not-home with us?"

And though there was still much grief in their uncle, who looked out at the world as if waiting for it to wrong him in a new way, Fíli saw something soften again in his hard elder's eyes. With a little sigh, he stood and took Fíli's and Kíli's hands in both of his own. And together they set out to their not-home, their waiting place, where they lingered until the time was right.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Many thanks to rovalo, obviously-not, sph9swc, vampyfreak, Keyll, Emily01, Peridot Tears, purestrongpoem, Anon1, Duroflo, Autumn, thewayfaringstrangers, and piagpoon for your reviews, and to everyone else who read, faved and followed.**

**Ah, it seems like there are quite a lot of Kíli Fíli fics out there, but I could not resist writing about the lovely brothers. So I suppose consider this my meager contribution!  
**

**Drop me a line if you are so moved! Thanks so much for reading, everyone.  
**

It took Kíli three days to grow impatient with his promise to leave sword-training until he was older. He came barreling into their bedroom with a wild look in his eyes, gesturing incoherently and bent at the waist, struggling to breathe.

"Catch your breath," Fíli said, smirking. "And tell me what it is."

Kíli gestured down the hall, nearly beside himself with glee. "The armory!" he gasped. "Uncle left it unlocked!"

As the eldest between them, Fíli was often charged with being responsible for both his welfare and his brother's, yet when Kíli found him with that bright, excitable look in his eye, screaming about some new mad quest or another, Fíli found it almost impossible to refuse him beyond the customary routine of initial reticence.

"I'm not sure if we should," Fíli said, frowning as Kíli bounded around their room, utterly inexhaustible. "Uncle said we're too little, still."

"Uncle exaggerates," Kíli said easily, with the utter confidence of those who do not entirely think through their answers. "I've grown a whole inch since we spoke to him last."

"You haven't grown at all," Fíli said, not amused. "You're five whole years younger than me, and if I haven't grown any, you haven't either."

"Let's go measure right now!" Kíli challenged. "And if I'm taller, then we have to go to the armory."

Fíli suddenly wasn't so sure about this. To his reckoning, they seemed to be more or less the same height, but even the slightest discrepancy in Kíli's favor and they'd be resigned to this admittedly foolish plan of his. But he couldn't resist a challenge to his pride, so he leapt up and fetched a string long enough to accommodate either of their heights, setting about measuring his younger brother.

To his utter dismay, Kíli turned out to be a fraction taller.

"I knew it!" Kíli crowed gleefully. "Now you have to come to the armory with me."

"Uncle will be really angry if he finds us," Fíli warned. "He might never teach us."

"He will so," said Kíli with utter assurance. "We're his heirs. We have to know how to fight. So really, we can do whatever we want, because he wouldn't dare take that away."

This sounded logical enough to Fíli, so without any further argument, the two of them crept through the halls of their home, avoiding open doors and the light of the torches, which threw flickering patterns on the floors. Finally, Kíli led them to the armory and pushed through the door into the darkness within. Fíli lifted a torch off the wall before following his brother, pushing the door closed so that they would not be discovered.

"Look at them all," said Kíli in a hush, his eyes quite wide. "Which do you think is the sword he cut of Azog's arm with?"

Fíli set the torch in a cradle and trailed his small fingers over one of the immense axes, as long as he was tall, the haft of it nearly the length of his arm. He couldn't imagine beginning to even lift such a thing, much less wield it in battle. "Maybe he keeps that sword on his person."

"No, it has to be here!" Kíli insisted. "He keeps all the weapons here."

"Keep looking, then."

Kíli was not deterred as he dipped in and out of the endless rows of weapons, chattering excitably. "It's the finest sword ever made, and so powerful in Uncle's hands. He cut through flesh and bone alike in only one swing! Can you imagine?"

Fíli could not – he'd always imagined bone would be hard to cut through. "Uncle's really strong, though."

There was an exited yelp from half the room away, and the sound of blades clattering to the floor. "I found it!" Kíli yelled, his high voice echoing off the walls like the rude bleat of a horn. "Come here!"

Fíli scurried to his brother's side when he caught sight of the sword, resting on its case. It was a fine, powerful blade; carved with runes, the hilt solid and beautiful all at once. The two brothers stared at it reverently for a long while, and each of them imagined what it would be like to wield such a sword in battle, to plunge it into the flesh of something evil, in defense of all that was good and worth protecting.

"Grab a sword," said Kíli at last, hefting Uncle's great blade with effort. "And defend yourself!"

Fíli had only just managed to grab one of the lesser swords that had fallen to the ground when Kíli swung Uncle's sword around, and had Fíli not been prepared, he would have been easily rent in two.

"What's wrong with you?!" Fíli hissed. "You could have hurt me!"

"No I couldn't've," said Kíli with the stupid assurance of the very young. "I'm completely in control of this sword. Now fight me like a man!"

They fought as they imagined true warriors would, with exaggerated shouts and cries of challenge, making altogether too much noise for deception. At first, Kíli was able to bear Uncle's great sword well enough, but as their play battle wore on, he grew tired and slow, and the blade's weight grew too much for him to handle.

But pride kept Kíli from telling his brother to cease their play, and he grew more desperate the longer they fought, parrying each of Fíli's blows with laborious effort. Fíli, for his part, did not notice – he was enamored with the vision of battle in his mind's eye; the screaming of the orcs as they fled, the way it would feel to defend his home and his family and smite that which threatened it, like a real hero, like Uncle –

He was brought back to the world by the sound of Kíli crying out in pain, Uncle's great sword clattering to the ground. "Kíli!" he said, rushing forward, all too aware that under his brother's hands, blood rushed forth, spilling from between his fingers, dripping onto the stone floor. "What –"

"My arm!" Kíli cried, and Fíli felt his own stomach drop to the floor as he took Kíli's hands away to examine the wound. There was so much blood – gushing, flowing freely as a river, staining Kíli's white sleeve red – and a long gash that nearly cut up his forearm.

"Help!" screamed Fíli, trembling so badly that he thought his heart would burst. "Help us!"

Their combined screaming brought the servants running, and they found quite a sight; the two heirs clutching each other, the younger growing pale as he bled freely, the elder nearly inconsolable, rocking back and forth with his bloodstained hands pressed over his brother's wound, as if he could stop the flow by effort alone. It took three adults to wrench them apart.

* * *

The healers worked over Kíli for an entire night, staunching the flow of blood, knitting the torn flesh together. Fíli heard them say that the wound had not been deep so it would heal without any complications, though Kíli would always bear a scar there, one that would never fade.

Fíli remained at Kíli's side, his hand curled around his brother's, holding it so tightly that Kíli shifted uncomfortably every now and then in his sleep. He had come so close to destroying the one thing he loved more than anything in the world, as easily if Kíli was made of wet paper and not flesh, as easily as tinder is consumed by fire.

He was so delicate! The slightest misstep and he'd have bled to death on the floor. There had been no greater terror in Fíli's short life, and he resolved that moment to do everything in his power to keep such a fate from befalling his beloved brother. He would die first.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: HUGE thanks to Estoma, Purestrongpoem, OnceInABlueSun, Duroflo, bronze andromeda shun, greenycheeks, Singer Salvage, fiona boyle 5832, Peridot Tears, Nalbal, caramelcandylover, and Cockapoo for your awesome reviews, and to everyone else who read, faved and followed!**

**Ahh lots of family feels in this fic. I just found myself so interested in their dynamic that I wanted to explore it as they grew up, and I suppose that's what this fic has become.  
**

**Drop me a line if you like! Thanks for reading!  
**

Kíli woke in the late morning, blinking groggily as he struggled to piece together the events of the previous day. As soon as his gaze focused on Fíli, it came rushing back to him in a surge of memory that nearly overwhelmed him. He saw Fíli's grief first, and he thought the sight of it would pierce his heart. He felt his elder brother's hand tight around his, saw the way his shoulders slumped as if he bore an impossible weight. He seemed to have aged half a century over the span of a night.

Kíli felt a rush of hot tears come to his eyes. "Fíli," he croaked miserably. "I'm so sorry."

Fíli had not noticed when Kíli woke, and he jumped when he heard the sound of his brother's voice. "W-what?"

"I should have listened to you," Kíli said in a rush, wiping his streaming eyes with the back of his hand. He felt very small and stupid and young, then – but chief amongst these was the rotten guilt that churned in his gut like soured milk for having made his beloved brother suffer as he had.

"What are you apologizing for?" Fíli said hoarsely. "I almost killed you! I – I wasn't paying attention, you were – there was so much blood, and I – I . . ." His lip trembled and he buried his head in his arms, shaking.

Though Kíli knew they had to be grown up and adult if they were ever going to convince Uncle to teach them the ways of battle, the sight of his brother's suffering always brought him swiftly to tears. He threw his arms around Fíli, and the two of them cried out the full force of their guilt and sorrow.

Fíli was the first to recover. He wiped his eyes and turned away, pressing his lips together. "Please forgive me," he said, almost too quietly to be heard. "I wasn't paying attention. I was – I was thinking about what it'd be like to fight like Uncle."

"I was too," said Kíli softly. "We shouldn't have gone to the armory. I – I thought that if we could wield Uncle's weapons, then he'd _have _to teach us, because we aren't too small. But now he'll never teach us."

"No, he won't," said Fíli, utterly miserable. "I'm sorry. I know how much you wanted to."

"Will you stop apologizing?" Kíli said, somewhat irritated. "It's making me feel worse."

"Why?!"

"Because this is my fault. It was my idea. It never would have happened if I hadn't insisted."

"I could have just let you go alone," Fíli argued. "Or I could have refused to pick up any sword once we were there."

"And then I would have hurt you instead," Kíli said, his stomach clenching with horror at the thought.

Fíli buried his head in his arms again. "Uncle is going to kill us."

"Do you think Uncle ever did anything like this?"

"Of course not," Fíli said, wrinkling his nose. "I don't think Uncle was ever a boy."

"He must have been."

"It's too hard to imagine," said Fíli, shaking his head. "Everything he does is right. He never cries or makes mistakes or feels scared. He never laughs." He was silent for a moment, struggling to give voice to a difficult thought. "Sometimes I wonder if he is made of stone."

"What nonsense!" said Kíli. "He's flesh and blood, just like you and I."

"Is he ever wounded?" asked Fíli in a hush. "Has he ever bled? Is he ever scared? Can you remember when last he said he loved Mother or us or anyone? He's too good for all of it," Fíli said, something steeling in him. "And someday I'm going to be just like him."

Kíli stared in disbelief at his beloved brother – thoughtful and a little shy, but there was no shortage of feeling in Fíli, and the size of his heart belied the size of his body. He believed in things deeply, and he believed in people even more so. The thought of Fíli forsaking everything that made him admirable in order to conform to some wrong-headed vision of their Uncle was so acutely tragic that Kíli felt an odd panic grip his heart.

"Uncle's nothing like that!" he croaked desperately. "Just because he doesn't show things openly doesn't mean they aren't there. Don't – don't become like that."

"Why shouldn't I?" said Fíli bitterly. "If I feel nothing, then I can be controlled like Uncle. Then nothing like this will ever happen again."

Kíli had been about to retort when the sound of heavy footfalls echoed through the hall outside, and the words he'd been about to shout died on his tongue. He knew the tempo of that pace, and knew the feet that they belonged to. He had hoped for a few hours to prepare what he'd say to Uncle, but now it seemed that the time of reckoning was at hand. Beside him, Fíli froze like a deer caught in the sights of a hunter, rigid with terror.

The door flew open, and Kíli would never forget the expression on Uncle's face; harrowed, bone-white with terror that went beyond words. He wildly scanned the room before noticing the two of them – conscious, clutching each other fearfully – and the terror gave way to something even more powerful; fury of the likes Kíli had never seen in his short life.

Uncle slowly crossed the room, his dark eyes like two smoldering pits, and when he reached out to take Kíli's wounded arm, Kíli expected his grip to hurt. He was surprised, then, by how gentle it was.

"Fíli," said Uncle finally, in a low voice. "Come with me."

Fíli stood slowly with his head bowed in shame and followed Uncle across the room, completely resigned to his punishment. Somehow Kíli knew at that moment that if he let his beloved brother go without saying a world, he would be irrevocably changed from that moment on, and he could no more bear the thought than he could bear the pain of death.

"Wait!" he cried, lurching unsteadily to his feet and weaving, still dizzy from the blood he'd lost. "Uncle, it was my fault!"

Uncle turned. "Fíli is the eldest," he said in a roughhewn voice. "He is responsible for you, and what has happened is unacceptable."

But Kíli rushed forward until he stood at his brother's side, clutching the sleeve of his shirt so he wouldn't topple to the floor. "It isn't! I forced him! I swear I did, Uncle; it's my fault."

"Kíli, no," said Fíli in a hoarse voice. "Go back to bed."

"I won't! You've got it all wrong, Uncle!" Kíli said, completely beside himself. "If you punish him, you must punish me more."

"Must I?" said Uncle dangerously. "Did you hold a blade to your brother's neck and force him to take up my swords? Did you drag him out of the room? Did you wound him, forcing him to defend himself?"

"I did!" Kíli shouted stubbornly. "I made him come with me to the armory; he didn't even want to! And once we were there, he just wanted to look at the swords, but I found the sword you used against Azog and I swung it at him, and he had to roll away and grab a blade just to keep from getting hurt! And I should have told him that I was getting tired and the sword was too big for me, but I wouldn't because I wanted to be strong, just like you, so I kept fighting even when I should have told him to stop. And he slipped and the blade cut me and that's what happened! It's all my fault, Uncle – not Fíli's! Hate me because I deserve it, but you must not hate him!"

As he ended his tirade, he'd grown dangerously close to tears again, but he bit his lip and stubbornly wiped at his eyes, struggling to stand though his head spun and his stomach had curled into a hard knot of fear.

Uncle blinked, and he saw the anger give way to surprise. "Hate?" he said quietly. "I am angry, yes – at you both. But I do not hate you, nor could I ever."

"What?" they blurted in unison.

"You are my kin," said Uncle. "My sister-sons. You are dearer to me than any sword, and more precious than all the gold of Erebor."

It took Kíli a few seconds to process this, for never in his life had he heard such a declaration of anything from Uncle – it anger or hate or grief or, most of all, love. As Uncle's words registered, though, he felt his eyes fill with tears again. Another day he would try to be tough and strong (and to keep from crying like a little boy at the drop of a hat) but today was not that day. He threw himself into Uncle's arms and cried the force of his relief, and a love that he hadn't known was reciprocated in such a manner, the discovery that it went deeper than words.

Fíli hung behind with his hands twisted behind his back, chewing on his lip so badly that Kíli thought it would split and bleed at any moment. But Uncle held open his free arm, and in the next moment Fíli had come to his embrace as well. And there the three of them remained.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Many thanks to chestry007, Kermitty, Gladoo89, Silmarilz1701, maplewind, Estoma, Anon1, caramelcandylover, Bernadette, rodeocat, fiona boyle 5832, LiL PriNCeSs Me, silverwolfneko-chan, elufuir, Autumn, Nalbal, Purestrongpoem, and Cockapoo for your reviews, and to everyone else who read, faved and followed. **

**So sorry for such a long break! I definitely mean to keep updates for this story coming at a more regular rate. Please drop me a line if you liked it or have any suggestions, because hearing back from you is one of my muse's favorite things! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy! **

As punishment for their disobedience, Fíli and Kíli were tasked with caring for Uncle's weapons. Fíli accepted his task with as much grace and dignity as he could manage – as was his province as eldest – but Kíli found it dreadfully boring work. He complained loudly as they moved through the armory, cleaning and polishing the blades, oiling the leather of the hilts, adjusting the axes and swords on their cases.

But Uncle was not moved by Kíli's piteous complaints. "If you wish to one day wield a weapon as a warrior would," he said sternly, "you must first know how to care for it."

"Why don't you have servants do this for you?" Kíli complained. "My arm hurts."

"Because I wouldn't have a servant perform a duty that is mine," Uncle said. "I would not drag a servant along on the battlefield to clean a dirty blade, nor would I even if it wasn't wasteful and foolish. There are some things an honorable man must attend to himself." His gaze became speculative. "Don't you wish to be honorable?"

He'd said the right thing; Kíli straightened up and resumed his labor with utmost attention, polishing a great axe as if he had been born to do that alone. Fíli bit his lip to keep from grinning and turned his focus back to the blade he'd been assigned, a sturdy sword with an intricate design on the hilt.

So the next weeks passed in a haze of obligation, lessons, and polishing Uncle's weapons as he saw fit. They were expected to keep the blades immaculate, and as the time passed Fíli grew to see the chore as an indulgence, for there was something calming about buffing out impurities and seeing his face reflected in the gleaming steel. Even Kíli learned to take to the task without complaint at first.

But there was only so much time before Kíli grew restless. He was easily bored on the best of days, to say nothing of the strictures of honorable men and punishments of wayward youngsters. He slumped against the wall of the armory one day with his head buried in his arms, the very picture of contrite misery.

"We still have to polish the axes," Fíli reminded him.

"I hate this," Kíli said mournfully, muffled by his arms. "I'll never be honorable like Uncle."

"You won't if you just sit there," Fíli said, ever the voice of reason.

But far from galvanized by this logic, Kíli slumped even further down the wall until he was hunched over himself in a grotesque display of woe, one single anguished eye peering up at his brother as if through a veil of eternal sorrow. "You don't understand," he complained, fisting his loose hair in his hands.

"What don't I understand?"

"I'll never be honorable!" Kíli shouted, gesturing emphatically. "I was thinking about what happened, how I couldn't handle the blade like you could when we were practicing. That's why I got hurt."

Fíli had grown very tired of this rhapsodizing these last few weeks. "You got hurt because I stumbled, and because we had no business practicing, not without Uncle or Mister Dwalin or someone to make sure we were safe," he explained as patiently as he could manage. With a sigh, he glanced over his shoulder at his brother, now little better than a puddle of misery on the stone floor. "We'll be able to manage soon, Kíli."

"But what if I never can?" Kíli said in a small voice.

Fíli peered closer at his younger brother, slowly realizing that this wasn't Kíli's normal proclivity toward dramatics but a real fear that had churned in his gut for an indeterminate amount of time. "Why wouldn't you be able to?"

"What if I'm always weak?" Kíli asked, pushing his hair out of his face and looking up at Fíli as if he'd been carved from shame. "What if they try to teach me and I drop the sword and get hurt all the time, and no matter how hard I work, I'll never be as good as Uncle or Dwalin or the others?"

"That won't happen," Fíli said, but Kíli was not reassured. If anything, his misery only seemed to increase.

"How do you know?" Kíli demanded. "How can you be sure?"

Fíli was taken aback by his younger brother's sudden vehemence – usually when Kíli got in one of his moods, he would wallow in pathetic misery until he got it out of his system. "I – I suppose I don't know," Fíli said finally, at a loss.

It was the truth, but it was also the wrong thing to say. Kíli buried his head in his arms once again and said no more.

Fíli felt a tight knot of guilt form in his gut as he watched his brother in the throes of earnest unhappiness, wracking his brain for something to say or do that would bring Kíli out of his misery and back to normal. It occurred to him that Kíli was not putting on a show to get out of a chore that he found unpleasant; his confession was sincere, and his worries were as real as anything, for Fíli always knew when his brother lied.

The solution came to him in a flash. "Come on," he said, hauling Kíli up by his hand. "I know what will cheer you up."

"What about the blades?" Kíli protested, resisting slightly. "We haven't finished cleaning them."

"I'll come back and finish them later myself."

"That's not fair to you."

"I don't mind it," Fíli reassured his brother. "Not like you do."

Kíli offered up no more protest, though as Fíli dragged him through the halls of their estate and out into the streets, he did not smile or react otherwise, not even when Fíli poked him in the tender ribs, which usually sent him into fits of uncontrolled laugher. Instead, he merely shrugged away, trudging behind as dour as a judge.

But his natural curiosity got the better of him, as it usually did. "Where are we going?" Kíli asked, struggling to keep pace with his elder brother as the marketplace crowd jostled around them.

Fíli grinned. "Somewhere even you'd enjoy," he called in order to be heard over the din.

The place he'd had in mind was a small shop at the outskirts of the marketplace, boasting a collection of finely crafted, colorfully painted toys. Kíli normally was quite fond of toys of all kinds, especially small figurines in the shapes of warriors and dangerous beasts and the like – he'd line them up on their bedroom floor and reenact great battles that he'd heard of that day in history lessons, though his reenactments usually involved more shouting and disarray than the orderly lines of battle their tutor preferred to impress upon them.

To Fíli's dismay, the shop full of fantastic toys failed to cheer Kíli up as he'd hoped; his brother browsed the stall with polite interest, but his lips were pulled downward in a heartbreaking frown, and his brows were furrowed with plain unhappiness. He always did wear his heart on his sleeve, so perhaps it shouldn't have surprised Fíli to see that even the toymaker noticed.

The toymaker in question was a pleased looked fellow, and he wore a leather cap and a bright smile as if he'd been born clothed as such. He peered down at Kíli with a friendly expression. "Can I help you today?"

Kíli scuffed the ground with the toe of his boot. "I'm just looking, sir."

"Sir? There are no sirs around here," said the toymaker, grinning.

Fíli frowned. "Then how might we address you?"

The toymaker swept the hat off his head and sank into an exaggerated bow. "I am Bofur, and I am at your service, and your family's. If I'm not mistaken, you are the young princelings, are you not?"

Fíli drew back. "How do you know that?"

"You're very distinctive," said Bofur the toymaker. "And I'm acquainted with your mother, besides."

Fíli crossed his arms in a forbidding manner. "Acquainted, is that right?"

Far from intimidated however, Bofur laughed, slapping his knee. "Fear not, princelings. You've nothing to fear from me or my intentions. Now, you're Kíli, is that right?"

Kíli nodded, biting his lip.

"You're possibly the unhappiest child I've ever seen at my shop. Tell old Bofur what's bothering you, and I'll see if we can't put it to rights."

Kíli peered up at the strange toymaker. "You're not old," he said, his brow furrowing.

"I'm older than you!"

Kíli seemed to acknowledge this, for he lapsed into thoughtful silence as he attempted to put the reason for his sorrow into words before shooting Fíli a pleading expression. Patting Kíli's shoulder reassuringly, Fíli spoke. "A few weeks ago we were practicing with swords and Kíli got hurt."

Kíli helpfully yanked up the sleeve of his tunic to show Bofur the bandage covering the long wound. Bofur's eyes widened, and the smile that seemed to be nearly a permanent feature of his face faltered slightly. "Mahal above."

"It wasn't too bad," Kíli said, embarrassed, and he scuffed the ground again. "It just bled a lot."

Fíli swallowed the hot shame that bloomed at the pit of his gut, threatening to render him speechless once again. It had been weeks since the accident, and yet he knew that as long as either of them were alive, he would look at that long scar on his brother's arm and know himself utterly responsible for that pain. "It was my fault, but now Kíli thinks that he'll never be strong enough to be a great warrior," Fíli said in a small voice, giving shape to their mutual shame. "Because he grew tired, and couldn't parry my blow."

There was a part of him that marveled he was able to confess such personal thoughts to a stranger, but there was something undoubtedly earnest about Bofur the toymaker: perhaps the openness of his features, or his kind eyes, or the way he looked down at them both as if their unhappiness was distressing to him as well.

"Why is that?" Bofur asked them seriously. "Do you fear you'll always be unable to handle the weight of a sword?"

Kíli nodded, miserable. "If I can't be a warrior, then I'll never be honorable like Uncle," he said.

"But you know you don't need to wield a sword or an axe to be a great warrior, don't you?"

Fíli and Kíli shook their heads in unison.

"Aye. Some of the bravest warriors felled the greatest enemies you could possible imagine with nothing more than a bow and arrow."

Kíli wrinkled his nose at the picture. "That's an elf's weapon," he said disdainfully. "That's the weapon of a coward."

"Is it indeed? I've always found the bow to be a wise man's weapon, myself."

"Why?"

"If you've a sharp eye and steady hands, it is the weapon that you'd do well with. You can strike quick and deadly, and if you're able to find a vantage point, you can defend an entire village with nothing more than a quiver full of arrows and the stamina with which to see them to their targets."

"That's impossible," Kíli said, crossing his arms.

"But it's happened before," said Bofur, and he rummaged through his pockets until he produced a little carving of a bowman. At first glance Fíli dismissed the figure as a man, but closer examination revealed proportions very similar to Uncle's: broad shoulders, a stout frame, and large hands that almost seemed too unwieldy for a bow. The dwarf had drawn his bow back, with an arrow nocked and ready to fire, his gaze narrowed and steady, perhaps trained on a deadly foe. "Haven't you heard the story of Gsíl?"

Fíli crossed his arms again, skeptical. "You making this up. I've never heard of a dwarf by that name before."

"Aye, it's not a very common name, is it? These days we take the names of our late fathers and not the names of the weapons we wield. But it's just as I said – Gsíl was a master of the bow. Though his people were proud and acquitted themselves well with axes and swords and other solid things, he believed that there should be no stigma in the weapons we carry. If you chose a bow or a staff or a club, you were still a warrior, and all that truly mattered was the result."

Fíli frowned as he considered this. "But it's not as effective as a sword or axe … isn't it?"

Bofur the toymaker shrugged, gazing at the carving of Gsíl and wiping away a bit of dust off its finely carved features. "Each are strong in their own ways, don't you know? Maybe that bow won't work so well when you've got an orc only an armspan away, but if you're nice and high up, I understand that you can do quite a bit of damage.

"Gsíl's people made the same error of assumption that you did. They believed a bow to be a child's weapon and refused to take Gsíl seriously, but he was not deterred. He knew that the bow was a worthy weapon, and nothing could convince him otherwise.

"And as fate would have it, he was soon given the chance to prove this. One day as he stood guard over the gates of his village, he heard the faint strains of an orcish warhorn, and in the distance he saw a great host of them marching over the hill. He sounded the alarm and the guard sprung to the village's defense, but the orcish horde was vicious and prepared, and they killed every dwarf they met in battle until only Gsíl was left. It seemed as if the village would be destroyed, but Gsíl killed them all one by one before they could breech the gates, for his aim was sharp and his hands were steady."

"How many did he kill?" Fíli wondered.

"At least a hundred, or so the tales say."

"All with just one bow?" Kíli breathed.

"Aye, you got it. Those who survived had learned not to question the worth of the bow, and you would do well not to repeat their mistake, for though it's not made of steel and steady stone, it is no less powerful in the right hands."

Bofur had said the right thing; Kíli looked mightily encouraged, perhaps even enamored with the story that the toymaker had told, and Fíli wondered if his younger brother now saw himself in Gsíl's place, wielding a strong bow and felling many enemies where the reach of an axe would fail. "Thank you for the story, Mr. Bofur," he said, and for the first time that day he broke into a wide grin.

"It was my pleasure," Bofur said, smiling in response. Glancing over his shoulder for a moment, he leaned closer to them and pressed the carving of Gsíl into Kíli's hands. "You may keep that, so that if you ever feel as if you're too weak for a sword, as unlikely as I believe that is, you'll remember that axes and swords are not the only path open to you."

Kíli hugged the figure to his chest, nearly beside himself with glee. "Thank you," he whispered.

And though the toymaker did not have anything for Fíli, he felt his own heart lift at the sight of his brother's happiness. The pair of them bid Bofur a fine day before cutting through the marketplace once again, and this time Fíli struggled to keep pace with Kíli as he ran through the streets, holding the toy aloft over his head like some offering to a heathen spirit of battle.

From that day on, Gsíl the bowman took a prominent position in Kíli's battle play, perched high atop the desk, his fierce gaze trained on the horde of orcs below. No arrows were fired, but the orcs would soon be swept aside regardless.


End file.
